Orphanos
by One Fine Wire
Summary: "Flying off into the sunlight, I know my parents are still out there. I know they're still alive, and I know they love me. I know they never meant to leave me behind forever and that they had every intention of coming back. I know I will find them."
1. Hamartia

**Orphanos**

* * *

**Chapter I: Hamartia**

**I**

I growl in frustration as my youngest daughter, Helga, has her eyes out of focus. Instead of watching to see when I throw the egg at her so she can catch it, she's turned toward her classmate, the one with the football shaped head, the one who brought his grandparents with him to the Parent's Tournament Weekend. _Why_ is she even speaking to him instead of remaining focused, and _why_ did the kid even bother bringing his grandparents to the tournament? They may be in second place, but we Pataki's can take them down. We Pataki's are winners. We don't lose. We don't quit. We don't let anyone or anything distract us from winning.

"_Helga! Turn around and catch the egg!"_ I yell, but instead, she remains focused on her classmate… Alfred? Arnold? What is that kid's name? I know it in the back of my mind – I just can't place where I've heard the name before.

I shouldn't care, but there's a small part of me that does.

I hate admitting it, but he made an impressive catch using his hat. He's a smart kid, who uses his brain, like I wish my daughter would use hers. I remember when Olga was home for a while and the student teacher for Helga's fourth grade class. When she wasn't teaching at the school, she tutored students in the gifted and talented program at home. Alfred, or _Arnold,_ or whatever the kid's name is, was one of the students Olga tutored. I remember listening in on their tutoring session while Miriam cleaned up dinner and as I tried to concentrate on the football game, but just couldn't. I turned around slightly and saw Helga watching the two of them…._enviously._

She loves the boy even though she calls him "Football Head" and insults him at every opportunity. She thinks I don't know about the shrine she has built to him, the bust of his head made out of used gum, and all the little pink notebooks of hers filled with poetry, all stacked inside her closet. She thinks I know nothing of the rituals she performs in his name, or of the animal sacrifices that nearly lead to our family having a run-in with the police… until I provided the entire police station with free beepers if they promised to keep the whole ordeal quiet.

I watch as the egg lands on Helga's face and explodes. The egg yolk falls languidly from her face onto the ground and the residue from the yolk sticks to her skin. Everyone – her classmates and their parents, laugh at my daughter's failure. Even that kid's stupid grandmother, wearing a brightly colored cheerleading uniform, can't stop cheering for her grandson while laughing at Helga at the same time. I'm surprised that Alfred, or Arnold, whatever his name is, came out normal, considering the people who raised him.

My daughter is embarrassed at her error. I am not happy. We Pataki's are always focused. Helga wasn't focused because she was too busy tormenting Alfred, or Arnold, or whatever his name is. Is blatantly_ teasing_ _the kid_ the only way she knows how to talk to him? Doesn't she know how to express her feelings properly?

Still, I'm frustrated that she's given him an edge in the competition.

I walk up to her furiously as she continues wiping the yolk off her face.

"_For crying out loud, Helga, keep your eye on the __**egg**__, not your __**opponent!**__"_ I shout roughly, keeping my eyes on her defiant expression. She hates it when I yell at her. Glaring down at her, I snarl,_"We are __**not **__going let some __**orphan boy and his ancestors **__win this Parent's Tournament Weekend. Do you understand?"_

"Dad!" my daughter exclaims. She is both shocked, and appalled at what I just said to her. Helga can deny it all she wants, but she truly _does_ love the kid.

"_What?"_ I demand. I demand even though I know. I know my remark was callous and that I called _Arnold_ an orphan boy. It was mean, but it's fact. I know he heard me, because while an expression of shock, than of hurt, creeps upon his face, the egg lands right next to him, and Helga's friend Phoebe, wins the egg toss.

That's what I want, for _Arnold_ to lose focus, for him to lose, because I'll be damned if some orphan boy and his ancient, nearly dead, grandparents come out better than the Pataki's. We come out on top at _everything,_ no matter the cost. If it means that I have to insult some poor, parentless child to have my way, I'll do it.

I leave the park and get the car started. Miriam lags behind me, and Helga stays back, taking out the locket with Arnold's picture in it – the one she thinks I don't know about, and speaks to it. What a nut job! I really hope those sessions with Doctor Bliss are helping, because if anyone needs them, it's Helga. I wait in the car, with Miriam in the passenger's seat next to me, dozing off as usual. It's now around three o'clock, and Helga has the biggest lecture coming to her. Plus, we need to be ready for tomorrow morning so that we can grab that first place trophy. The best parents always win, not just for them, but for their children, too.

I peer out the window and see Helga conversing with Arnold. He looks offended as Helga skips off and joins her mother and I in the car.

"What did you say to him?" I ask as we drive out of the park.

"I apologized for your cutting remark," Helga says coldly as she stares out the window.

"What _else_ did you say to him?" I demand, "I take it he didn't accept your apology, since he looked so upset with you."

"Nothing," my daughter says darkly, folding her arms and falling against the seat. _"I just want to go home."_

Growling in frustration, I say, "That is not the way you talk to me! We have a competition to win tomorrow, and you _will_ win that trophy, _no matter what_!" I take a deep breath, still frustrated with my daughter, and continue, "You know better than to let some orphan boy distract you from winning a parent's weekend tournament, of all things. Helga, you have a beautiful, talented, smart, older sister who's won every contest she's entered, you have your mother, who was a former Olympic swimmer, and then you have me, an all-American football linebacker! Come on, Helga – competition is in your blood! Winning is in your blood! There is no excuse as to why you can't step up your game!" I stop, and take a breath. Miriam still dozes, snoring slightly while some drool falls out the corners of her mouth. I roll my eyes; so much potential wasted. Then I look at the girl in the backseat – she can really be anything she wants to be… she can be another winner like Olga, but instead she spends all her free time pining after the orphan kid. I sigh. I just want her to be a winner. I just want her to do something with her life. I do want her to be a success, and I do try to be a good father, by motivating her to follow Olga's example. I figure that if Helga uses Olga, who's accomplished so much as her template, if she uses the competitive edge that I've given her, and if she puts the two of them together, that she can succeed.

I try to be a good father, I really do.

But why do I fail?

**II**

After getting home, I tell Helga to go to her room; she needs to be well rested for tomorrow. Miriam goes to the kitchen to make another smoothie, and I sit on the couch and turn on the football game. I turn it off after a few minutes, and then walk to the computer. I type the name "Miles Shortman" into the Google search bar. I don't know why I do it; everyone who lives in Hillwood has heard, one too many times, about his tragic disappearance into the jungles of San Lorenzo. There are over one million results; some of them are even in Spanish. The images show pictures of a man with peach skin, messy blonde hair, large green eyes, and a distinctive chin. He is muscular and toned, always wearing fitted clothing, even when braving the dangerous jungle.

Oftentimes, his arms are around the waist of a young, beautiful brunette. Some of the images show the two of them with Arnold as a baby.

I click on the most recent result, which shows a picture of Miles with his wife and Arnold, along the airplane they took on their last trip. I notice that an article accompanies the pictures, so I scroll down and read it:

_Eight years after the disappearance of Miles Shortman, an anthropologist and doctor, and his wife, Stella, also a doctor and a botanist, into the jungles of San Lorenzo to distribute medicine to the Green Eyed People, their family and friends are left with more questions than answers. _

_Their trip, which was only supposed to last one week, has now turned into lasting for nearly a decade._

_Although the two of them arrived in San Lorenzo safely, the plane they left in to enter the jungle was never found. Three years after the couple went missing, where many search parties were sent into the jungle, and trips funded by Miles' parents, Philip and Gertrude Shortman, to send detectives into the jungles of San Lorenzo, all in an attempt to bring home their son and daughter-in-law, the police officials in San Lorenzo closed the case. _

_Miles and Stella's plane is forever missing. No evidence suggests that the couple was murdered; their bodies have not been located, and there is no trace of the belongings they brought with them on their trip, though it is safe to say that the Green Eyed People received the medicine Miles and Stella brought to them, since they are now a thriving people who were once on the brink of extinction. No evidence of foul play has been found. _

_Philip and Gertrude Shortman, who exhausted nearly all their savings in an attempt to find their son and daughter-in-law, still continue to run the Sunset Arms boarding house in Hillwood, New York. Miles and Stella's son, Arnold, an engaging, precocious nine-year-old, continues to remain under their care. _

_Both a heartbreaking story as well as a mystery, it is likely that Miles and Stella Shortman will never be found. As to their wellbeing and whether they are alive and well, or dead, no one will ever know._

I turn off the computer and remain seated, thinking back to those days… those days when Miles Shortman was still around. He was an only child, born when his parents were much older – when most people their age, like his parents, were sending their children off to college and embracing the fact that they were so close to the finish line, to retiring, to endless summers consisting of vacations and relaxation. Just as Phil and Gertrude Shortman were reaching their finish line, they were sent back to the start with the birth of their son. I didn't see Miles all that much, since I attended college out of state and was gone most of the year, but from what I remember, he was a smart kid… just like Arnold. He had a calm demeanor… just like Arnold. He was a nice kid and loved helping people… just like Arnold. Miles loved animals, and was always carrying around one or two of them. He spent all his time outside, and was tan all year round while his blonde hair grew lighter because of the sun's rays. I was always jealous of the kid, even though I hate admitting it. Though I never got to know him, and though his parents were older and rather eccentric, I knew he was brought up in a home where his devoted parents loved him deeply and supported him in everything he did.

Not that my parents didn't love me, but they weren't very smart people. They were always between jobs and we were always living paycheck to paycheck. I had to put myself through college, and when I came home during the summers, I always found my parents worse off than they were the last time. Thank God for Miriam, who always invited me over to her home for the holidays. Thank God. She saved me, and now I look at her, passed out, completely drunk on the couch, and I feel that I've destroyed her, ruined her potential by making her stay home with Olga and Helga. I don't mean to hold her back, but I know that feeling of not having a mother in the house, of not having that stability. It's hard. Miles had both his parents at home, since they ran a successful boarding house. He led a life of love, of stability.

I remember the last time I saw Miles Shortman. He and his wife were at the park with Arnold, eight years ago. Eight years ago, I had the successful beeper emporium I still have today, my wife, Miriam, Olga, my daughter, a beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful young woman who succeeded in everything she did… and Helga, who was a surprise baby. I didn't know what to do with her… I still don't. I remember placing her on the swing, watching her sit there, kicking her legs back and forth, while Miles and Stella bought Arnold that blue cap he still wears today. I watched as they pushed Arnold in his stroller, loving him and finding joy in their little son. Miles would ensure that Arnold would lead the same life of love and stability he had while growing up… an idealistic childhood, the one I never had, but wanted so badly.

I want that for my family, for my baby girl. That's why I work so hard at running my beeper emporium. That's why I want Miriam at home. That's why I want us Pataki's to win, to be the best at absolutely everything so that we _won't_ have to face the possibility of leading an unstable lifestyle. I don't want that for my wife or my daughters.

I wish Helga understood that. I wish she understood that's why I push her to win and to be the best she can possibly be. I wish she would be more like Olga, who works hard and is motivated to succeed, who already, leads a stable life and is on her way to success. I wish she understood that's the reason why I always dote on Olga – it's not because I love her more, it's because I'm proud of her.

I want to be proud of Helga too.

**III**

The sun comes in through the blinds, forcing me to open my eyes. Miriam groans and turns over, placing her pillow over her head.

"Morning already?" I groan. I wake up, touch Miriam gently on the shoulder, and get ready for the day. Ready to win this Parent's Tournament. Ready to win my baby girl a trophy. Ready to prove that I really _am_ a good father. When we get to the park, I see the trophy, freshly polished, gleaming in the sunlight.

"We're going to win that trophy," I say to myself, "For my name's not Big Bob Pataki!"

Tournament starts. First, is the wheelbarrow race. We lose. I growl in frustration as the next race, where both parents hoist their kids on their shoulders, and run from the start to the finish, begins. Arnold's grandmother outruns Miriam. The insults fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"_Put some muscle into it, Miriam!"_ I shout. _"Come on, don't let the old hag and the orphan kid beat you!"_I scream as Miriam drops Helga onto the ground clumsily. I pick up Helga and start running, only to be told that we've been disqualified from the race. I bare my teeth at Helga's teacher and walk off angrily, only for him to announce the final event: a three part relay race, consisting of a short bicycle ride, a climbing wall, and finally, a gelatin joust. I look from where the bicycle ride is to take place, to the large climbing wall, and than to where the large bowl of gelatin sits underneath a balance beam. _"This is too easy,"_I think to myself. Sure, the orphan kid will come close to beating Helga at the bike ride, but there is just no way his grandmother will survive climbing a gigantic wall. There's no way his grandfather will beat me in a gelatin joust. He's too old, to frail, to joust against _me,_ Big Bob Pataki. I don't lift weights for nothing. I smile smugly. This will be a piece of cake.

The relay begins. To my dismay, Arnold and Helga tie in the bike ride, but my mood picks up when Miriam beats Arnold's grandmother when climbing the wall and getting the baton to me.

"_This will be a piece of cake,"_ I think, as I walk toward the old man, intimidating him, waving my baton in his face. He backs up until he is nearly to the edge, keeping a straight face, but I know he's intimidated. He swings, but misses.

When I swing, he flips over, upside down. I grin wickedly. "I win!" I declare. Helga will be so proud of me. She'll finally have a trophy, the motivation to accomplish more in life. She'll be on the way to success, to stability. I've won the tournament, and my baby girl will soon have the determination to set her future right, just like her sister before her.

"Wait!" her teacher yells. "Arnold's grandfather is not officially disqualified unless he's touching the gelatin!"

"I'll check, Mr. Simmons!" Helga tells him.

I'm livid at this point. Doesn't she want to win! She's a Pataki! She knows better! I watch as Helga walks toward Arnold's grandfather. She looks down and then looks at him. I see her mouth moving. What is she saying to him? He nods. I shake my head, pretending that the little exchange between the two of them didn't happen. I hold my baton in front of me, ready to fight, to beat Arnold's grandfather and win that trophy. I bare my teeth and glare coolly at the orphan's grandfather, ready to fight. Before I know it, he hits my ankles twice, and I find myself sinking into the large gelatin mold.

I have lost. I fail Helga. I fail my wife and I fail as a father. I did not secure that trophy, that motivation my daughter needs for success. Instead, the trophy goes to her friend Phoebe. I watch Phoebe receive the trophy as I continue floating in the gelatin, attempting to get out. Everyone cheers for Helga's friend, and Arnold stands with his grandparents, clapping. They only win second place in the tournament, and they beat us. They don't care. Arnold doesn't care, like how his father wouldn't care. His father would only care about being with him. I'm sure he wishes he could be here now, with his son. Arnold wishes the same, but my callous words no longer affect him.

When I finally break free from the sticky gelatin mold, I beg Helga for help, but she either cannot hear me due to the loud cheering and clapping, or she ignores me.

"Phoebe!" she calls to her friend. When Phoebe turns around, Helga smiles and gives her friend a thumbs-up while Miriam claps and cheers for her. I sigh as I struggle with getting myself out of the gelatin.

After getting out of the large bowl, I realize that Helga doesn't need me. I realize that Miriam would be better off without me in her life and that she had so much potential, and I destroyed it all. I realize that Helga doesn't need me to help her lead a life of stability, and that she, too, is fine without me. I realize that even though Arnold doesn't have his parents in the picture, that they love him, whether they're alive or dead, and that he's aware of that love. I realize that even though he's an orphan, he's better off than I am. His grandparents love him dearly. They didn't care about having to go back to the starting line when they were way past the finish line. Arnold knows why his parents aren't in his life. He knows they always meant to come back. My words don't affect him. My wife and daughter could care less about me, and are better off without my influence.

I am the real failure in this situation.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Dialogue from the episode "Parent's Day" written by Craig Bartlett and Antoinette Stella was used in this story. I do not own the dialogue or the episode. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.


	2. Ehasa Tin Ayapi

**Chapter II: Ehasa Tin Ayapi**

**I**

Parent's Tournament Weekend.

Why would I want to go to a parent's day relay race lasting the _entire _weekend, when I can watch wrestling instead? Right now, as I'm heading to the park for the tournament with Bob and Miriam, _Wrestle Mania_ is on, and I'm missing it! To me, watching two overgrown men beat each other to death is better than having to slough through a relay race with Bob and Miriam. Bob just wants another trophy to add to his collection, and I doubt Miriam even knows what's going on right now, as she had a "smoothie" and was passed out behind the couch right before we left.

My parents can think all they want that I'm oblivious to what goes on inside our home, but I know it's _not _normal for dads to prefer working at the office all day instead of coming home.

It's _not _normal for moms to put ice in their "coffee."

I'm nothing like Olga, an award-winning, beautiful, perfect, does every single thing right kind of person, but I know _more _than she does about what goes on at home, and I know it's not ideal.

As Bob looks for a parking spot, I scan the park before me, looking to see if I know anyone. I squint and see Phoebe, warming up with her parents. There's Harold, running around a tree, going ballistic _yet again, _probably screaming for his mommy to feed him. Gerald's there with his entire family, and I see the other kids with their parents, too. I doubt their family lives are dysfunctional like mine is. I look, and I see Arnold with his grandparents.

"_Arnold, my love," _I think, _"He comes to the Parent's Tournament Weekend with his grandparents, ready to conquer and bring home the golden trophy to hang on the mantle of angels!" _I sigh, wishing I could say my proclamation aloud, yearning to let my _true _self free – the passionate, romantic, side of me, to let everyone know that I'm the girl who writes love poems and speaks in lyrical prose, instead of the harsh words that often come out of my mouth.

I wish I could tell Arnold how I truly feel about him instead of always having to ridicule him.

It pains me everyday to speak so harshly toward him, but if he knew how I felt, he would most likely reject me… I'm sure he'd rather be with someone with a more stable background, who hailed from a more sane environment, instead of having to put up with the dysfunctional lifestyle I hail from.

Arnold might live in a boarding house full of crazies, but he has a stable life. He has grandparents who love and care for him.

It wouldn't surprise me if Arnold and his grandparents won the tournament; his grandparents are really out there, but they're as energetic and fit as ever… probably in even better physical condition than Bob, who lets the world know whenever he can that he lifts weights everyday while at work, and thus, is in peak physical condition.

Too bad his eating habits prove otherwise.

Seeing Arnold with his grandparents, I roll down the window, wanting to tell him good luck. But my mouth always gets the better of me.

"_Quite a line-up you got there, Football Head," _I snarl, looking down condescendingly at my beloved and his grandparents. I'm rude and I am callous. I act the way I do to hide my true feelings, and to put on a front for Bob, who I shouldn't care about impressing, but do, so that I won't have to put up with an endless lecture filled with yelling and contentious arguing if I defy him. Each time an insult flies out of my mouth at breakneck speed, a part of me dies inside, knowing that I hurt my beloved, knowing that I cave into Bob and his wants yet again, knowing that I fail in everything I do. Not even Doctor Bliss can help me with that!

I keep my eyes on Arnold as Bob throws out insults. Arnold is not amused; neither am I, but I pretend to be to avoid the wrath of Big Bob. If only Arnold knew that I have to put up with each day, I'm sure he'd understand! He'll never know that even though I'm rude to him, that I love him and that he's my saving grace! He'll never know unless I let myself free.

If I let myself free.

If I have the _opportunity _to release myself from the misery I've grown up with.

**II**

After getting out of the car, Bob, Miriam and I walk toward where everyone else is standing, listening to the announcements from Mr. Simmons. Mr. Simmons, God bless his soul in hosting this event, trying to get all of us to grow closer together to the ones who made us. Too bad the only thing Bob and I have bonded over is our loathing of the plot less, stupid, utter shame to Broadway ever known to man – the musical, _Rats. _And sure, Miriam and I bonded during that road trip to South Dakota, but the only bonding that occurs between the two of us is when she's sober, and that's an unfortunate rarity.

I look around, not paying attention to what Mr. Simmons is saying, though I do laugh when Eugene, carrying the "torch", trips halfway up the stairs.

Poor kid, will he ever cease to fall?

Will I?

My mind still wanders as Mr. Simmons continues his announcements, only to be brought back to reality with Bob screaming, _"Whoever wins the trophy is the best parent!"_

I blush, my cheeks turning bright red at Bob's proclamation. Why does he insist on _always _being the best at absolutely everything? Bob always has to win – at selling beepers, at running the best beeper emporium in all of New York, at building up an enormous trophy collection… does he understand that I'd rather have a dad than someone who's the best at absolutely everything?

Still, I put on my game face for Bob and tell him that I'm ready to kick butt.

Everything goes well, I guess. We win at nearly everything – the beanbag race, the jump rope contest, and I manage to throw the most pies at Bob and Miriam. It feels good, venting my frustration with them as parents by throwing desserts in their faces.

"_Here's a cranberry pie for you, Bob," _I think to myself, _"For only caring about winning and not about me."_

Then, I pick up a blueberry pie and think, _"Another pie for you, in blueberry, for only caring for __**Olga**_."

At least Olga didn't come to the tournament. That would've been embarrassing. I throw a pie at Miriam, for all her drunken episodes, another one for all greatness she threw away… another one for all the times she forgot to pack my lunch and was late dropping me off at school. I throw another one at the both of them for spite.

I don't want to be at this Parent's Tournament Weekend. Watching _Wrestle Mania_ is more my forté.

Yet, it feels good to win.

Yet, it makes me feel that I'm of worth, knowing that Bob is looking out to win a trophy for me, that maybe if I do win, that I can be of worth in his eyes. I know I don't need the trophy; Bob needs it more than I do… and on a typical day, I'd care less about Bob's opinion of me. Most of the time, I don't care. But it's nice, in a way, knowing that he wants me to win.

Yet, that doesn't change the fact that I love throwing pies in Bob and Miriam's faces and that during the tournament, I've used it as an outlet to release my anger.

After everyone finishes wiping the pie residue off his or her faces, it's time for the ring toss. Big Bob fails hopelessly. Big shock there! Bob can't aim to save his life! Arnold's grandpa, however, can throw numerous rings into the peg with his back turned. I pretend to be frustrated like Bob, but really, I'm impressed. In fact, Arnold and his grandparents are now tied for second with Phoebe, after beginning the competition in last place. I turn and smile at Arnold, even though his back is to me. Conversing with his grandparents, he looks up at his grandfather and nods. It's time for the final event of the day, the egg toss.

Arnold and his grandfather give each other a high-five and take their places. I stand across from Bob and put on my fake game face.

"We're going to finish out strong, Helga," Bob tells me. "We're not losing the first place spot we've worked hard for!"

I roll my eyes just as the egg toss begins. Everyone's out within the first few minutes, and only Arnold, Phoebe, and I remain. After tossing the egg back to Bob, I watch as Arnold's grandpa throws the egg high into the air for Arnold to catch. As he backs up gracefully, surveying where the egg will most likely land, he takes his hat off and catches the egg. He looks so beautiful, catching the egg so gracefully, with such great skill.

I sigh happily and watch as Arnold takes the egg out of his hat and then puts it back on his head.

_"You fetched the egg perfectly, my love," _I sing.

But when he turns around and looks at me, I freeze. I stop singing those praises to him. The insults come out of my mouth before I can stop them, before I can even think.

"_Nice catch, Football Head!" _I say rudely. _"You __**loser! **__You couldn't even catch it cold!"_

And then, the egg lands on my face. Everyone around me laughs. Except for Arnold, even though he could've. Even though he had every right to after I was rude to him. But he doesn't laugh. He doesn't.

I'm embarrassed. Yet, I'm elated. Arnold didn't laugh at me!

Big Bob approaches me. I know this means trouble. He bends down, so that his face is close to mine – so close, that our noses are practically touching. His teeth are bared and his eyes are squinted, contorted, filled with an unspeakable rage.

"_For crying out loud, Helga, __**keep your eye on the egg, not your opponent!**__" _he screams roughly, _"We are __**not **__going to let some __**orphan boy and his ancestors **__beat us at this Parent's Tournament Weekend! Do you understand?"_

"_Dad!"_ I'm appalled. Why must Bob go to such lengths? Why must he hurt another person, particularly Arnold, my beloved, to get a point across? Is winning really worth it if it means that my one true loves suffers in the process?

"_What?"_ Big Bob's callous words come back to haunt me as I look to where Arnold stands, staring at us. He is hurt by Bob's angry, offensive words, and it causes him to lose the egg toss. I sigh deeply as Bob walks away from me to start the car after telling me that victory will be _his._ _His_ victory. Not mine, but _his._ There goes that one idealistic shred of hope I still had left, that maybe Bob actually cared. He doesn't. He cares only about winning, about adding one more trophy to his collection.

"Victory?" I lament, "What victory? The trophy is an empty mockery if my dad wins it!" I take out my locket of Arnold, the one I carry around my neck, an emblem to my love. I hold it close to me, smiling softly upon looking at his easygoing grin. I sigh, "What's the point in winning if it means having to watch the one person I value most in life, suffer – my beloved, parentless Arnold?"

An idea comes to me. "I'll apologize to Arnold!" I exclaim. Seeing that a few people witnessed my outburst, I say, "So that I be conscious free to beat him tomorrow!"

Must I always hide how I feel?

Running out of the park, I see Arnold and holler, "Hey, Football Head!"

"_What, Helga?"_ he demands, glaring at me, his arms folded.

I know what I want to say. I want to apologize for my father's hateful words and tell Arnold that his comments were out of line.

I want to tell Arnold that even though he doesn't have parents, that his grandparents are amazing people… that heck, they're better than my parents.

I want to confess my love to him – tell him that I think of him everyday, that I love him more than life itself, that I worship the ground he walks on and perform Tantric rituals and vigils at three in the morning, all in his name.

I want to tell Arnold that I love him and want to marry him so badly.

I want and love Arnold more than life itself.

I want to tell him these things so badly, yet, before I know it, insults fly out of my mouth, and I know what I'm saying, but I can't stop it.

"_Yeah, I remember."_ His arms are still folded, and he still glares at me.

"_That didn't go well,"_ I think to myself, trying to rack my brain for what else I can say to him. I want to apologize so badly, but everything comes out wrong. Though is back is turned to me, I still speak to him, though my voice is quiet and subdued. "I think that went too far."

"_I have to get going,"_ Arnold says shortly, turning his back on me.

The word vomit returns with a vengeance, "I mean, you know you don't have parents," I ramble, "You don't need my dad pointing it out to you and reminding you that you're all alone in the world…"

I close my mouth. I know I've said too much.

"_Thanks, Helga," _he mutters bitterly, while walking away from me.

"So, you okay?" I ask. I really want to know. I really do hope he's okay. I really do.

"_Sure."_

I open my mouth, and the word vomit returns, though I do everything in my power to prevent it from spilling out. "Good!" I yell, "Because tomorrow, _I'm going to kick your butt!"_ When he's gone, I say to myself, "I think that went well."

Big Bob pulls up and I hop in the car. I hate doing it, but I have to keep up appearances with him and pretend that everything's going well when it isn't.

After all, that's what we Pataki's do best – cover up every bad feeling in our house and pretend it isn't there.

**II**

My bedroom is my sanctuary, and I'm grateful I have it. My bedroom is the one place where dysfunction ceases to exist – it's where I can be myself and express my feelings the way I want to. It's where I can bask in my love for Arnold and not care who knows it; it's where I can worship him without others interfering, where I can write my endless soliloquies to him in my various pink notebooks that line the walls of my closet. It's the place where I can take one of those pink notebooks and read from it aloud, where I can dream… where I can dream of Arnold taking me away to a better place, being completely understanding of why I hide my real self from him, and where he'll love me for who I am.

So, when Bob sends me to my room after the first day of the tournament, insisting that I need to be "well-rested," I go there gladly. Wrestle Mania means nothing, especially after the way Bob treated my beloved so cruelly. I open my window and breathe deeply, clearing my mind from today's events. After a few moments, I retreat to my closet and get down the most recent pink notebook I jot down my ideas in. There are only a few pages left. I pick up a pen and write. When I finish, shock creeps upon my face; the words lying before me are not poetic like they usually are. Instead, the words before me are a heartfelt letter to my beloved.

_Arnold,_

_You take me away to a place where dreams are reality and where they come true. Though it seems I hate you and want nothing to do with you, I love you madly and deeply. Though I ridicule you everyday, from the name-calling, the scathing remarks, the pranks I play on you daily, it's really not me. I am merely hiding who I truly am._

_I cannot express myself properly in this cold, cruel world. My family life is an unstable one, and at times I feel so alone, and in such deep agony that I don't know what to do. I am in despair. The only way I can express myself is in secret, by writing, like I wrote to you just now. I __**do **__love you Arnold. I love you more than life itself, but have hidden my true feelings out of fear that you would reject me… you probably would, if you saw how pathetic I was, with all the poems I write about you daily, how I __carry a locket with your picture around with me so that I can always look at your smiling face… I worship the very ground you walk on; when you say a nice word to me, or even give me a smile, I dance inside. You make me happy. You make my life bearable. You are my sunshine._

_You keep me going._

_You've helped me see that though my life isn't perfect, that it's still worth living. You've helped me live and let live, and embrace life when I otherwise wouldn't. Because of you, I can find what little joy I can in the journey we call life. When my family didn't notice me, you did, on our first day of preschool, when you sheltered me from the rain and complemented me on my bow. I've never taken it off since. You showed me compassion the same day when Harold stole my crackers during snack time and you gave me yours and looked out for me. You continued to make sure I was okay since then, even though I've tormented you since that day._

_Still, that hasn't stopped you. You have a good heart, Arnold. I'm so lucky to have you in my life, and not everyone realizes it, but Hillwood wouldn't be the same without you. You're the one who keeps Hillwood stable, and you are the calm center of my universe… you are the calm center of all Hillwood. Without you, the entire city would go six feet under. You go out of your way to help others – you always give advice to those who need it and are willing to help. Your compassion goes beyond what is expected… you helped show me the true meaning of Thanksgiving, and spent the day with me when my family didn't even acknowledge my presence. You saved Mighty Pete. You helped Gerald learn how to ride a bike, and you helped Harold prepare for his Bar Mitzvah. You help people and want them to be better, Arnold. I admire you for your example, and I love you more than even words can describe._

_What my father said earlier today was wrong, and I truly am sorry that he felt the need to stoop so low and call you an orphan in front of our classmates and their parents. It was cruel, and I hope you can be forgiving. I don't know what happened to your parents, Arnold, or where they are, or if they're alive or dead, but they would be so proud of you if they saw you today. They would be proud to call you their son. I'm sure they love you deeply._

_Again, I apologize for my father's comment, and I apologize for the way I acted toward you afterward. I'm not good with the spoken word, only with the written. Please know that I understand how greatly my words hurt you, and how greatly my father hurt you, and that I apologize for that. I love you, Arnold, and hate to see you in pain, though I inflict it upon you at every opportunity. Please know that I don't do it to be spiteful, but that I am afraid of your rejection and that too often, I feel the need to hide my true feelings… I am afraid that you only see me as the weird, class bully who teases you and is classless. If that is the case, I deserve that, and thus, do not deserve your love._

_Please accept my apology, Arnold. I want to ask you to accept my love, too, but I understand if that would be asking too much. Today, I ask only for your forgiveness in the way I've treated you, and that includes today._

_I love you. Don't ever forget that._

_Always,_

_~Helga Pataki~_

I sigh after I finish reading the letter. Without thinking, I put it in an envelope, write out Arnold's address, and put a stamp in the right hand corner.

_What am I doing?_

I'm not ready to tell Arnold how I feel about him yet. I want to, but I can't. I know the chances of me being rejected are much greater than the ones of me being accepted by Arnold. Though I am cruel, my greatest fear is that Arnold won't love me back…and if he doesn't love me, who will?

No, I won't let myself think that way. I _will_ find that person, someday, who will love me despite the tough exterior I put up to hide my true feelings. Someday, I will find that someone who's willing to break it down and show off to the world the _real_ me. I will find that person.

Are there people out there like that?

Other than Arnold?

I exhale and take the letter out of the envelope. I place it in one of the plastic covers lying inside my desk drawer on top of a grey binder Olga bought me when she was the student teacher for my class. Who seriously gets their sister a _binder _as a gift? It proves useful, though, as I open the three rings and place the plastic cover, with my letter to Arnold inside it, through the rings, and close it again.

After walking to my closet, I place the binder in the very middle of the shelf, with all my pink notebooks surrounding it. The grey binder looks odd amidst all the pink, but oddly enough, it works. My eyes avert to the shrine I have built to Arnold, the first one I made, out of used gum, long gone. I nod, acknowledging it, and walk out of my closet, shutting the door behind me.

Flopping down onto my bed, I exhale yet again, and try to go to sleep, but cannot. During my slumber, and as the black closes in on me, I am tormented by Bob's scathing words toward my beloved. Arnold looks at me, his eyes filled with despair, the expression on his face, deeply hurt, as Bob continues taunting him. Tossing and turning, I cannot get Arnold's face out of my mind, and Bob's cruel, scathing words will not go away.

The night is long. Too long.

But when I wake up with the sun streaming onto my face and forcing me to open my eyes, I have my answer.

I know what I must do.

**III**

Today is the final day of the Parent's Tournament Weekend. I want it to be over with, but I know why I'm here.

I notice Arnold with his grandparents. He has a small smile upon his face, and a light, though it only flickers just slightly, in his eyes. He looks bold and determined to come out strong in this tournament. I smile and gaze at him; even if he doesn't win, he will always have my heart, a trophy attesting to the true, eternal love I have for him… even if he doesn't know it.

At this point, I no longer care about winning the tournament, nor do I care about Big Bob and what he wants.

None of that matters anymore.

Though the thought of having a trophy to call my own, of having Big Bob be proud of me, and having just a small shred of his approval mattered to me just a mere day ago, I no longer care what he thinks. What I'm about to do today will land me in trouble and a lecture from Bob about how "disappointed" he is in me, but there's the bigger picture to think about – the picture that Bob is too narrow minded to see.

The first race of the day is the wheelbarrow race. While we're all racing, Gerald's dad gets turned around, loses his step, and knocks us all over. I'm not even aware of who wins the race, but I know my family and I didn't.

It doesn't matter.

During the next race, I find Miriam carrying me on her shoulders, running lopsided. She is the slowest of all the parents. Even Arnold's grandmother outruns her, and Bob screams insults at her and he ridicules Arnold and his grandmother, calling him an orphan, and his grandmother, a hag. It's rude, and my family and I being disqualified from the race, due to my father's stupidity, is payback enough. Bob can snarl at Mr. Simmons all he wants, and Mr. Simmons might appear to be scared, but he doesn't back down. I thank him silently for defying Big Bob Pataki.

My thoughts are interrupted by Mr. Simmons telling us what the final event is: a miniature relay race, consisting of a small obstacle ride, a climbing wall, and a gelatin joust. First, I compete against Arnold in the bicycle ride. We tie, because I must keep my game face on until the final moment; it pains me, but it is apart of the plan that will work out in the end. Miriam narrowly beats Arnold's grandmother in the climbing wall and in handing off the batons to Bob and Arnold's grandfather.

It is almost time.

Bob walks toward Arnold's grandfather, intimidating him, baring his teeth at him in a contorted, angry grin. When Bob sees that Arnold's grandfather standing on the very edge, he swings his baton at the elderly man's feeble joints. I cringe as I watch him struggle to get back up onto the beam. When he finally does, Bob knocks hits him again, and he is now upside down again, but he cannot swing up.

Bob is so arrogant. By the smug grin on his face, he already assumes he has won. He already assumes that he's won the stupid trophy, which means _nothing._

"Wait!" exclaims Mr. Simmons, "Arnold's grandfather is not eliminated unless he is _touching_ the gelatin!"

The time is upon me.

"I'll check Mr. Simmons!" I volunteer. Running to where Arnold's grandfather is turned upside down on the beam, I notice that he's not touching the gelatin, but that one, small movement, and he soon will be. I look him in the eye and say, "Go for my dad's ankles. They're already loaded down to the max!"

Arnold's grandfather gives me a hard, steely glare to make sure that I'm really helping him and not just pulling his leg in an attempt to make him lose. I nod to him while looking at him squarely in the eye, and I turn around. When I notice Mr. Simmons waiting for my response, I tell him, "Well, what do you know? He's still out in the clear!"

When I turn around, I see Arnold's grandfather hit Bob in the ankles. I give a small smile and watch as Bob falls into the gelatin. I turn my back on him and choose to let him get out of the sticky mess himself, satisfied that my plan has worked. Phoebe wins the trophy, Arnold wins second place, and Gerald wins third. I smile as I watch Phoebe's parents hug her close to them. I'm happy that she has parents like that. I watch as Arnold cheers for her with his grandparents. His grandfather inspects the second place ribbon proudly while his grandmother hugs her close to him. The sight brings tears to my eyes, but they are not tears of sorrow. Arnold's environment is one filled with love, care, and stability even though his parents aren't in the picture. They're in his heart though, and I believe he will find them.

Bob has escaped from the gelatin mold, and slumps toward the car, but I do not care. Miriam cheers for Phoebe as well, proving that there's still _something_ inside her, a light within, that hasn't _been completely_ extinguished by Bob.

Congratulating my friend, I yell her name and give her a thumbs up.

Today… is a good day, one filled with a new sense of hope, and even of victory.

**IV**

After the tournament, Bob sends me to my room again. He suspects that I gave Arnold and his grandparents an edge in the competition, but I do not care. Meanwhile, while Bob stews in his bitterness, Miriam drinks "coffee." As I scribble my latest poem in the same, pink notebook from last night, using up its final page, I realize that my situation is dismal, but Arnold gives me hope. He gives me hope that I can be better than I am right now. He gives me hope that my situation will improve. He gives me hope that someday, I will be able to tell him the truth and that I will one day be able to let my true self free.

Arnold gives me hope that I can be loved one day… that maybe _he's_ really the one after all.

He is, after all, the one who has always looked out for me.

_You keep me going_

_Because of you, I dance_

_And I know_

_That our meetings are not by chance_

_When I need a hand_

_You're always there_

_You rescue me_

_And save me from my despair_

_My life, though unstable_

_Is always filled with delight_

_You give me a firm foundation to stand upon_

_And make sure that my days are bright_

_You give me strength to push through_

_You are my muse, my inspiration_

_To help me overcome_

_When thinking of your compassion, I come up with my best creations_

_When I fall, you pick me up_

_You inspire me more than you know_

_You come to my rescue, though you think I hate you_

_When really, I love you more than I, and even words, will ever show._

**He is my everything.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Dialogue from the episode "Parent's Day" written by Craig Bartlett and Antoinette Stella was used in this story. I do not own the dialogue or the episode. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.


	3. Elpida

**Chapter III: Elpida**

**I**

"_We are __**not **__going to let some __**orphan boy and his ancestors **__beat us at this Parent's Tournament Weekend!"_

I turn my attention away from Grandpa and look at Mr. Pataki. Does he know how heartless he sounds? Is he capable of contemplating how hurtful those words are to me, that I'm not hurt by the fact that he said them, but instead, by the fact that he actually _thought_ before he spoke? The one time Mr. Pataki thinks before he acts, he does so to hurt someone else… to hurt _me._ I know Mr. Pataki isn't the nicest guy around – he tried bribing me with money, in an attempt to get me to purposely lose the fourth grade spelling bee. He wanted to tear down Mighty Pete and he ruined our class' plan for a parade float. When Helga's older sister, Olga, tutored me when she was the student teacher in Mr. Simmons' class, I noticed that he never paid any attention to Helga and that all the pictures on the wall were of Olga and her parents.

Mr. Pataki isn't the greatest guy in Hillwood; anyone can attest to that.

Yet I _still _believed that _somewhere,_ deep down, that there was some good in him, like I do with Helga.

But _never,_ in a million years, did I imagine he would stoop _that_ low, and now I know that _any_ of the good he once had in him is now gone.

"Head's up, Shortman!" Grandpa hollers. I hear him, and my arms are stretched out to catch the egg, but I can't move, I can't turn and catch the egg; part of me is still in shock over Mr. Pataki's comment, and the other half of me is hurt. Really hurt. I'm not here, at the Parent's Tournament Weekend, for myself, or to win a trophy. I know all too well that I don't belong here. I'm only at the tournament because Grandma and Grandpa want to be. It means a lot to them that they can spend time with me, since they're usually so busy running the boardinghouse, taking care of the animals, and making sure that Oscar pays his rent on time. Up until now, I've actually loved being here. It doesn't matter if we finish out in last place, and I know Grandma and Grandpa don't care either… well, I know Grandpa and Mr. Pataki don't get along, so it means a lot to him that we finally caught up with them… but that doesn't matter to me.

The egg lands next to me, but I don't care. It's time to go anyway, and I walk away from where the crowd gathers to congratulate Phoebe on her win. I notice Mr. Pataki lecturing Helga about something, but I don't dare look her in the eye.

"Arnold!" Grandpa exclaims, "You don't look so good! What happened out there?"

"Nothing, Grandpa," I lie, "I just got distracted. That's all." I turn around and begin walking home when Helga stops me in my tracks.

"Hey, Football Head!"

"_**What, **__Helga?"_ I snap, glaring at her. I can take her calling me Football Head most days. I know she puts up this tough exterior to hide her own insecurities, and sometimes, I suspect that she torments me because she can't tell me how she really feels. I know she doesn't really _hate_ me, but if she's just as heartless as her father, then I don't want to talk to her.

"Well," Helga says quietly, "I think what my dad said back there, calling you an orphan and all – "

"_Yeah, I remember,"_I reply coldly. I don't think I'll ever forget her father's cruel words about my parentage for as long as I live.

"I think that went too far," she tells me, her voice quiet, subdued.

My glare on her softens somewhat. _"Maybe she realizes her father was out of line,"_I think hopefully. _"Maybe she understands, deep down, what it's like __**not **__to __have your parents around."_ When we look at each other, the look in eyes is soft and caring, and I wonder, if maybe, we can make a connection of sorts.

_A connection with Helga Pataki?_

I know I must be crazy to think I can have that with her, despite knowing about her insecurities, despite knowing that there's more to her than what meets the eye. Sure, I can handle Helga's torments, since I know she comes from a background of neglect and dysfunction. But I can't handle her father's uncaring demeanor. I can't.

I shake my head and tell her, _"I have to get going."_I turn around and start walking back home when Helga beckons to me again, stopping me in my tracks.

"I mean, you know you don't have parents," she remarks, "You don't need my dad reminding you that you're all alone in the world."

I sigh as an overwhelming sadness engulfs me. She's right – I _don't_ need her father reminding me that my parents aren't in the picture. I don't need _her_ telling me that, either.

"_Thanks, Helga."_It takes me nearly everything I have to keep it in and not explode. _"Just remember,"_ I think to myself, _"She only acts this way toward you to hide her insecurities. She's just troubled and confused deep down. Helga isn't __**that **__bad."_

I continue walking when Helga asks, "So, you okay?"

She sounds sincere.

"_Sure."_

"Good!" she yells, "Because tomorrow, _I'm going to kick your butt!"_

I want to believe that Helga's a good person with a good heart. She's been teasing me since preschool, where she first coined the nicknames "Football Head," "Hair Boy," and "Yutz," among others. Despite her constant ridicule and the fact she's the established class bully, I know there's more to Helga Pataki. She acts out because she feels no one loves her. She lives in despair due to the lack of care and stability in her life, all while putting on the front that everything's okay. Helga acts out because she wants the attention she doesn't get from her family. I know there's more to her and that she throws insults my way and bullies others to hide her real self from the world, because she's afraid that the world won't be so kind to who she truly is. I _want_ to believe that Helga has a good heart and that she isn't all bad, but after today, I can't help but wonder if she's just as callous as her father before her.

**II**

That night at dinner while Grandma dons a cowboy hat and sings "Home On the Range", I swirl the kidney beans on my plate with my fork. I hope the Parents Tournament Weekend doesn't become a topic of conversation; but when Grandma approaches me and asks if I want more, saying that I'll need the extra fuel for tomorrow, I shake my head.

"Why, Tex!" Grandma exclaims, looking at me with concern, "You haven't even touched your kidney beans!"

"I'm not hungry," I say, "I ate a lot at the festival."

"Festival food's good for you, Arnold!" Grandpa says, smiling, "Especially the fluffy pink stuff on a stick!" He smiles at Grandma and asks for more beans. When she puts them on his plate, he takes a few bites and says, "I'm going to need all my energy to beat that Pataki tomorrow!"

"Grandpa?" I ask, "About the tournament… I'd rather not go back tomorrow. Can we do something else?"

Grandma is worried, and Grandpa looks shocked, but then smiles slightly.

"Uh-oh, I'm sensing one of your _illuminating_ boyhood problems," he says. "Fess up, Arnold."

I sigh and begin rubbing the back of my neck nervously. "It's just that Parent's Tournament Weekend is for kids and their _parents_," I tell them. "And… you and Grandma are great and everything, but you're not actually my parents." I pause and look at them before finishing. They look sad, and I feel bad that I've hurt them, but we don't belong there at the tournament, where everyone will be with their parents except me; and I don't want Grandma and Grandpa to come Mr. Pataki's fire or have to listen to the insults he'll have directed their way. It's already bad enough that he insulted me at the tournament; I don't need him hurting my family, too.

"Anyway," I sigh, as I scoot the chair I'm sitting on out from underneath the table and get up from it, "I think I'm too full for dessert. Good night." As I begin walking up to my room, Grandma offers me some raspberry cobbler, but I turn her down.

I just want to go to bed, wake up, and realize that the Parent's Tournament Weekend was only a horrible nightmare.

**III**

I can see the moon and stars illuminated against the dark sky through my sunroof. I am in bed, with the covers over me, but I cannot sleep. Instead, I reach into the miniature drawer to the left of me and pull out an old photograph. It is a sacred relic – one of the few memories I have of my parents. Their smiles and laughter are forever frozen in time as they stand arm in arm, together. My father is tall and blonde, with the same chin as Grandpa. He laughs despite his broken arm. My mother is shorter, with dark brown hair. We have the same nose, and her face is melon-shaped. I smile, knowing that it from her side of the family that I've inherited the shape of my own oblong head.

When I hear someone knocking, I put the photograph away.

"You okay, Shortman?" Grandpa asks, after letting himself in.

"Come in, Grandpa," I answer quietly. Grandpa comes and sits on my bed hesitantly. "I don't know if you want to hear any stories about your parents, tonight… you probably don't want to hear about how they saved all of Sri Lanka from fire ants, or when they were acrobats in the Peaking Midget Circus…"

"Tell me the _real_ story, Grandpa," I tell him. "I want to know what _really_ happened to my parents."

Growing up, my favorite bedtime stories weren't typical nursery rhymes or fairy tales; they were stories about my parents. Each night before going to bed, Grandpa would always tell me about an adventure my parents went on, from them saving an entire village after getting a serum from an elusive village whose members nearly chased them to their deaths, to the time they single-handedly took on an entire ship of pirates and won, I always loved these stories. Eventually, I was able to tell the difference between the truth and the sensational, but I still loved hearing about them. Now, however, it was time to know the truth.

Grandpa looks at me with a sad, nervous look in his eyes. "Are you sure, Arnold?"

I nod. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Okay," Grandpa sighs, "Here it goes… your father was an anthropologist, and he was a doctor, too. One day, he was hiking with his expedition, looking for a plant that could help in curing a terrible disease… than, Doctor Iron Claw – "

"_**Grandpa!"**_ I chide him. Right now is not the time for the exaggerating he loves to do.

"I'm sorry, Shortman!" Grandpa says, "But you wanted a lot of bedtime stories when you were little, and I needed a lot of material! Please understand that's why I exaggerated just a little!"

"I understand."

"Your father _was_ on an expedition," Grandpa continues, "When he spotted a schooner in the clouds…"

**IV**

_The weather was boiling hot as Miles walked with his companion, Eduardo, and his expedition, through San Lorenzo. Despite the weather, Miles marveled at the beauty of the country – the blue sky, the dense, green jungles, the wildlife. As the two of them continued walking, with the expedition leading the way, the young anthropologist-doctor looked to the sky._

"_Look at cloud," he said, pointing to it, "It's just like a sailboat, a schooner!"_

"_Fifty months into the jungle and he's looking at schooners in the clouds," Eduardo said, chuckling. "My friend, you are a true romantic."_

"_You really think so?" Miles inquired, smiling. It'd been four years since he entered the jungles of San Lorenzo for the first time, and he was still just as much, if not more, in love with the vast jungles when he first got there. It'd been four long years since he'd been in an actual "civilization", since he had running water, plumbing, electricity, and various venues, such as malls, restaurants, and movie theaters, close to him. Yet, he wouldn't have it any other way._

_Still, he was flattered by his friend's comment. "You really think I'm __**romantic?**__"_

"_The ladies must be all over you," Eduardo replied as he caught up with the expedition._

"_No," Miles lamented, "I could never find someone who'd put up with me wandering all over the planet." He turned to the side and looked down dismally. Miles loved what he did for a living; not many people could say that. He loved traveling all over the world, but he wanted nothing more than to find someone to grow old with. He'd been in serious relationships during his university and graduate school days, but he felt that time was running out… he was afraid he'd never find somebody._

_Until he saw __**her.**_

_Her back was turned to him, but she looked toward the sky, pointing to the very same cloud Miles was just looking at a few minutes before._

"_Look at that cloud!" Her voice was melodic. "Isn't it beautiful? It looks just like a sailboat, a clipper!"_

"_It's a schooner, really," Miles said, grinning down at her, whilst leaning on his walking stick._

_Soon, he found himself falling. Before he knew it, he was on his back, looking up into the beautiful green eyes of the beautiful young woman before him._

"_Yeah," she said, "If you couldn't tell a schooner from a clipper ship." She held out her hand, and he took it. After she helped them up, the two of them faced each other, staring into the other person's green orbs, still holding the other person's hand._

"_Hello," Miles said, breathing deeply._

"_Hello," she responded, looking down at his hand, and than back up at him._

_"I'm Stella."_

"_Beautiful," Miles said. "Your name means __**'Star'. **__Did you know that?"_

_She smiled before asking for his name._

"_Miles," he answered, "It means 'Merciful and generous.'"_

"_I like it," Stella replied, smiling._

**V**

"They were so much alike, your mom and dad," Grandpa tells me, "I've never seen anything like it."

Smiling slightly, I ask Grandpa to continue. I don't want this story to end.

**VI**

_Miles, Eduardo, and the expedition spent the night at Stella's camp. She showed him various waterfalls, temples, and viewing places for sunsets that Miles never knew existed. The next day, when it was time for the expedition to continue traveling, Miles didn't want to leave._

_After waving goodbye to Stella, Miles ran slightly to catch up with Eduardo and the rest of the expedition. Above them, was a smaller expedition, where one of their donkeys was caught in the crevice of a large rock. As the members attempted to free the donkey, it bucked, sending the gigantic rock, along with smaller ones surrounding it, downward._

_Noticing that Eduardo was just beneath the rocks, Miles ran and caught up with him._

"_**EDUARDO!"**_

_Miles pushed his friend away from the rock, and only saw black._

"_You can relax, the cavalry's almost here."_

_The anthropologist-doctor looked up and saw Stella's green eyes again. He looked around and noticed that he was flat on his back, with a broken arm, and bandages in some places. As Stella applied rubbing alcohol to his wounds, he noticed that the members of his expedition were okay. Eduardo smiled down at him, on a crutch, with a few bandages on his face._

"_So, do you always hang around on mountainsides?" Miles asked, touching his left shoulder, where it stung painfully._

"_Are you sure you landed on your shoulder?"_

"_As opposed to my heart?"_

**VII**

"She helped your dad and his friend get to a safe place before dark," Grandpa tells me, "They were meant for each other, Shortman. They travelled around the world together."

"It's all true," I say, marveling at the fact that Grandpa has told me the real story. "You didn't make it up."

"They were good people, Shortman, and they really loved each other… which is why they decided to get married and have you."

"Then what happened, Grandpa?" I inquire eagerly. "What happened to them? Where are they now?"

"You were just a little guy…"

**VIII**

_Miles still couldn't believe he was a father, that he and Stella had made a beautiful son, their Arnold, together. All his adventures in San Lorenzo and in other parts of the world would never compare to the great escapade known as fatherhood. Holding the camera up to his face, he watched as his son walked toward him. He had blonde hair just like him, and green eyes, but he looked mostly like Stella – he even had her nose._

"_Come on Arnold, you can make it," Stella encouraged her son, letting go of his hands._

_Miles watched happily as Arnold took a few, small steps toward him. After taking a picture, he picked up his son in a hug and said, "That's my boy! I knew you could do it."_

_He stood up, still holding Arnold close to him when he noticed Stella waving at someone._

**IX**

"Your dad's old friend, Eduardo, came to see them. There was a disease wiping off the remotest parts of San Lorenzo… these were villages that hadn't seen outsiders since your parents flew in with medicine for them."

**X**

_After looking over the map Eduardo gave them, showing them the areas in San Lorenzo where the disease broke out, Miles sighed. "I'm sorry Eduardo, but we can't go with you. We have a baby boy now; that stage in our lives is over."_

"_But the two of you are my last hope! These people might die out forever, and you're the only ones they trust!"_

_Miles and Stella looked down at their young son, Arnold, as he played with the map Eduardo gave them. Miles hated the idea of leaving Arnold behind… he didn't want to let his little boy out of his sight. Ever._

"_Think of the children," Eduardo begged. "Please."_

**XI**

Grandpa sighs deeply before continuing. "Your parents decided to go on one last mission."

**XII**

_The taxis waited outside in the pouring rain. They needed to get going, but decided to prolong their last moments in Hillwood… just a little longer._

"_We won't be gone for very long, I promise," Stella reassured Arnold, placing his toy plane in his arms. It broke Miles' heart._

"_Mommy loves you so__** much Arnold**__," she said, hugging him. "You be a good boy for Grandma and Grandpa, okay?"_

_Miles suppressed the tears as he held his son close to him. "We'll be back next week, buddy," he said levelly. "When I come back, I'll take you to the park. Daddy loves you, Arnold."_

_He and Stella stood by the doorway for a few short moments after he placed Arnold into his father's arms. His son, though he was only a year old, looked confused, and his parents, devastated. They'd only had their son, daughter-in-law, and grandson with them for such a short period of time before this happened._

"_Bye Mommy, bye Daddy," Arnold said, waving at them._

_Miles felt his heart breaking, even though his heart was already broken... but he would not cry in front of his son._

**XIII**

"And so," Grandpa exhales slowly, "They loaded up their plane and took off for one last mission, one last time…"

**XIV**

_It rained heavily, and the winds blew as Miles and Stella got ready to fly their plane into the jungle for one final mission. Their cargo was loaded, Stella sat in the back, and Miles sat in the front. He missed Arnold more than words could describe, and he wanted to get the mission over and done with. He wanted to return to Hillwood and resume his normal life. The sooner the plane took off, the sooner he would be back home, the sooner he would see little boy again._

_Eduardo approached their plane. He gave Stella a hug and shook Miles' hand._

"_Good luck, my old friend," he said. "I wish you and your wife a fast, safe trip."_

_Miles nodded as he released Eduardo's hand. It was time to go._

_He started the plane, turned it around, and then went airborne._

_After they'd been airborne for some time, Miles turned around and noticed Stella looking at the same picture of Arnold Miles took at the park. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. It no longer rained. He sped up and gave the plane more momentum as he and his wife flew into the sunlight._

**XV**

"Then what happened, Grandpa?" I ask.

"They never came back," he answers sadly, "We never heard from them again."

"What about their plane?"

"It… it was never found."

"So they could still be alive," I say aloud, "Just… lost….and maybe they'll come back someday."

"It's not likely, Shortman," Grandpa sighs, "But it's possible."

I lie down and bring my bedcovers over me. "Grandpa, thanks for telling me the truth."

"You're growing up, Shortman," he says, patting my knee. "Good night."

After Grandpa turns off the light, I close my eyes, trying to sleep… only to realize that it never quite finds me.

**XVI**

_The sky is a vivid blue with minimal clouds in the sky. In front of me, I see a plane flying in the distance as it flies further away from me. I reach toward it, screaming for my parents._

"_**Mommy! Daddy!"**_

_I am young again, and despite my begging, the plane flies further away from me._

"_**Mommy! Daddy!"**_

_I vaguely remember being young and crawling all over the boarding house during the night, when I couldn't go to sleep. I remember looking for my parents and trying to find them, but I couldn't. As I continue crawling, the hallways look distorted and misshapen._

"_**Mommy! Daddy!"**_

"_Hey, Arnold, what are you doing out of bed?" Grandpa asks me. He seems so big, now that I'm so little again._

"_I'm scared because I can't find my mommy and daddy."_

_Grandpa scoops me up in his arms and says, "I'm going to tell you a story about your parents, okay?"_

"_O-okay…"_

_As we enter my room again and he puts me in my crib, he asks, "Did I ever tell you the story about when your parents were acrobats in the Peaking midget circus?"_

"_No. Tell me the story."_

"_Well, your mom and dad are natural born acrobats! Walking across a tightrope is just like strolling down the sidewalk"_

_Suddenly, I find myself in a circus. My parents are on a tightrope several feet above the ground, wearing red and black circus attire. My father has my mother on his shoulders – she is juggling while he holds a metal bar._

"_They got their practice walking across tightropes in Mozambique," Grandpa tells me._

_I find myself in the tightrope too, trying to get across and catch up to them. They watch worriedly as I take a few steps. When I fall, they watch._

_After falling from the tightrope, I find myself in the boardinghouse airborne, still falling, until Grandma catches me._

"_Say, Tex, what's a cowpoke like you doing without his horse?" she asks, placing the red cowboy hat she was wearing at dinner on my head. She puts me on her shoulders and kneels down, allowing me to climb onto her back. "Say giddy-up!"_

_I laugh and repeat after her, and than find myself on an actual horse in cowboy attire, Grandpa watching me. When I was little, he took me to the ranch to ride horses. I laugh as I bounce up and down on the horse before becoming airborne again._

_I'm nine-years-old again, and find myself in an airplane. I am the pilot. I smile as I continue flying._

"_Atta boy, Arnold!" Grandpa shouts. I look up and notice he and Grandma in a plane right above me. "Off we go into the wild blue yonder!" Their plane speeds up, and I fly my plane faster to catch up._

_Smiling, we fly together._

**XVII**

When I wake up, I feel the sunlight on my face and can hear an airplane taking off.

I open my eyes, and it hits me.

**XVIII**

"Morning Grandpa, morning Grandma," I say, entering the kitchen. I take a seat at the kitchen table next to Grandpa, while Grandma places a bowl of miso soup in front of me.

"Morning Shortman," Grandpa responds. "Sleep well?"

"Sort of," I answer. "I had some interesting dreams."

"Are you still thinking about the story I told you about your parents last night?"

"Yeah," I reply. "Thanks for telling it to me, Grandpa."

"I was thinking that maybe we could go to the aquarium today, or go fishing," Grandpa tells me. "Would you like to do any of that, or something else along those lines?"

"Actually," I say, "I would like to go back to the tournament."

Grandpa smiles. "Really? But you said it was just for kids and their parents."

"For _me,_ that's you and Grandma."

Their eyes light up, and mine do too. I want to go back to the tournament; not to win a trophy, but I go because Grandma and Grandpa want to go, and because I do too. The best way I can honor my parents' legacy, and the best way I can honor Grandma and Grandpa, and thank them for raising me, is by going to the Parent's Tournament Weekend, and showing my class that I'm proud of my grandparents. I love them. I'm grateful that they've raised me, and I'm grateful for their influence.

**XIX**

When we get to the tournament, I notice Helga and her mom standing off to the side while Mr. Pataki admires the trophy, which will be awarded to the first place winner. Even though her back is to me, I give Helga a soft smile. I know her life isn't easy, and when her older sister tutored me, I often got the impression that her mom didn't have it easy, either. I look to my grandparents and smile – I'm grateful that the two of them love each other just as much, if not more, than they did the day they got married, and that neither one of them has held the other person back.

Even though winning has never mattered to me in terms of the tournament, I want to make it clear to Grandma and Grandpa. Being here with them is all that matters.

"Grandma, Grandpa, let's just have fun today, okay?"

They look at me and smile. "Okay, Shortman," Grandpa replies, ruffling my hair.

We don't win at the wheelbarrow race, but we still have a good time. That's all that matters.

The next race, which consists of me riding on Grandma's back for the first half of the race, and then Grandpa's, is great too. Grandma outran Helga's mom, and even though I told Grandpa earlier that we should just concentrate on having a good time, he does a little dance upon seeing Mr. Pataki being disqualified from the race. I smile sympathetically at Helga.

Lastly, is a miniature "triathlon", which Grandma, Grandpa, and I will be competing against Helga's family. When Mr. Pataki glares at Grandpa and calls him "The oldest living American," I can't help but be a little frustrated. It's one thing if he insults me, but he's gone too far by taking jabs at my grandparents.

It's frustrating, but Grandpa has it under control. "That just shows how little you know!" he tells him, "I'm the second oldest living American – Pookie's the oldest!" I can't help but laugh despite my frustrations with Mr. Pataki, but I realize that Grandma and Grandpa don't care what he thinks. I have to realize that Helga has to live with him.

The race goes off without a hitch – Helga and I tie in the bicycle ride to the wall, and she doesn't throw a single insult or jab at me during it. After handing off our batons, we go to the sidelines and watch. She doesn't say anything to me. I get worried when Grandma slips at the top of the climbing wall a little bit, but she proves otherwise and manages to hand off the baton to Grandpa before joining me on the sidelines.

Now, Grandpa and Mr. Pataki face off in the gelatin joust, and I admit that I'm a little afraid. I know Grandpa is in great physical shape for his age, but I'm still nervous. I hope Mr. Pataki doesn't hurt him.

As Mr. Pataki walks toward Grandpa, waving his baton at him until he's at the very edge, my nerves grow a little bit more. I gasp when he swings at Grandpa, turning him upside down, and then declares himself the winner. I breathe in furiously, irritated by Mr. Pataki's arrogance.

"Arnold's grandfather is not eliminated unless he's touching the gelatin!" Mr. Simmons announces. I breathe a sigh of relief; even though I care less about winning, I don't want Grandpa to come away "damaged." I still want him to have his pride when we leave.

"I'll check Mr. Simmons!" Helga volunteers. She runs toward Grandpa, looks down, and says something to him, though I don't understand what. Turning from him, she tells Mr. Simmons, "Well, what do you know? He's still out in the clear!"

Just then, Grandpa swings himself back up, hits Mr. Pataki in the ankles twice, and sends him into the gelatin! Grandma and I clap and cheer. We're the loudest ones doing so, and we envelope Grandpa into a hug when he gets back to us. When Phoebe is announced the first place winner, we cheer for her, and I notice Helga and her mom sending their congratulations. She isn't so bad after all.

When Mr. Simmons hands us the second place ribbon, Grandpa holds it up proudly as Grandma hugs me close to her. Today is a happy day.

Before going to bed that night, Grandpa tells me Helga's motivations. "She told me to hit him right in the ankles, Shortman," he says, "Helga's not such a bad girl once you get to know her a little better."

"I know, Grandpa," I reply, smiling up at him. "There really is more to her." After today, I know Helga has a good heart that she keeps hidden deep down. She isn't really a bully, and she's not really brash; she helped my family and I, knowing fully well that she's face her father's wrath for doing so. Maybe someday, she can let me get to know her _real_ self. In the meantime, I can only let her sort through her feelings and get rid of her insecurities. She needs to do that herself; and even though she calls me "Football Head", "Hair Boy," and "Yutz," I know that it isn't because she hates me.

**XX**

That night, my sleep is a dreamless one. When I wake up, I feel the sunlight on my face and again hear the sound of an airplane taking off. I climb the stairs up to the sunroof and see an airplane there. I run to it and climb inside, putting on goggles and a scarf.

I take off.

**XXI**

_Deep in the jungles of San Lorenzo, a man and a woman, with the little light they possess, look at a well-worn photograph of their son – blonde haired and bright eyed, with his mother's nose and his father's blonde hair._

_The man strokes the photograph gently. "We love you Arnold," he whispers. "We'll be reunited again. Someday."_

**XXII**

Flying off into the sunlight, I know my parents are still out there. I know they're still alive, and I know they love me. I know they never meant to leave me behind forever and that they had every intention of coming back. Knowing that they left me in such great hands – with Grandma and Grandpa, gives me hope that I can grow up to be just like my mother and father, as well as my grandparents, and that one day, I can emulate their example. They give me hope to be better and to be the best I can be.

I feel the sunlight against my face and the breeze blow by my face gently. My parents may not be here, physically, but I know I can look up to them, and I have my grandparents. That's the best thing they've ever given me.

Still…

… I know I will find them.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Dialogue from the episode "Parent's Day" written by Craig Bartlett and Antoinette Stella was used in this story. I do not own the episode or the dialogue. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.


End file.
